


Like a Snowflake Through the Fire (Will you be here suffering? Well, I hope to be)

by trepidatingboarfetus



Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27553600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trepidatingboarfetus/pseuds/trepidatingboarfetus
Summary: From the newly released The Lost Boys Volume One GTA V Fanzine!Everyone is suffering in the dead of winter, looking for ways to catch happiness by the warmth of fire before it's forever gone to them.But Trevor would rather stay suffering by Michael's side, lost to the cold.
Relationships: Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Like a Snowflake Through the Fire (Will you be here suffering? Well, I hope to be)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thenomansland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenomansland/gifts).



> Remember me mentioning that I was busy working on a huge-ass GTA V Fanzine project with a friend and a bunch of kickass writers and artists? Well, it's out!! Go grab it! 
> 
> https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1wuK7xUDkj4vioR6lWT3eqaeelOHmMwv3
> 
> Nanaimo bars are a Canadian dessert. <3 The title comes from a really sad song that inspired this sorrowful mess pre-Tracey mess, I’m sorry. :( It’s called “Suffering” by The War On Drugs.
> 
> This was actually written for someone, but I never got around to saying anything because it was just so bittersweet, that I decided against it. But what the hell, now you know.

Winter in North Yankton was off to another cold, icy start, but you’d never catch Trevor complaining; no, he hated this fucking shit just as dramatically, if not more, as everyone else, and he didn’t give the slightest fuck as to whence he’d strolled in from because it had absolutely no bearing on how well he could tolerate the weather, and he’d told his ragtag group of misfits that time and time again. 

But Michael loved to especially rub his nose in the Canadian shit even though he’d spent _plenty_ of goddamn time in the States as a teen too, even if it _was_ a revolving door of states, and he’d really never gotten to stay longer than a few months in any one of them. 

He knew it was all in good fun from his fuckbuddy friend, but there were times it was downright fucking tiring, and he really started to _believe_ that Michael bought into that dumbass idea that Canadians had some sort of built-in superpower to withstand the cold. 

The cold snap had come early this year, starting right before the bend into Halloween, and next to no one was prepared for it. Snow piled on top of mounds of leaves and mud as it had just rained heavily the week before the drastic drop in temperature. Some people hadn’t yet put up gardening tools, still refusing to be done with the lazy days of summer. 

Trevor walked through it all, admiring the crisp freshness while looking for his target, and he found him easily enough, overlooking a section of South Egg Creek by 12th Avenue where it pulled into a bit of pond and was a small section of park where the local kids would skate and play hockey when the weather was right enough for it. Michael’s hands were clasped and sitting on his folded leg with his chin resting in the middle of it all, deep in thought. 

Trevor knew why. 

In about two more months, he’d be a father, and he knew that Michael felt he should be ecstatic, but his emotions felt out of place, and the man, himself, felt out of place. He knew his friend like he knew himself: neither one was cut out to be a regular Joe, muddling about at a 9 to 5, coddling the kids, fucking the missus with the lights off and pajamas on, and piddling off to bed to repeat the next day before Carson came on with the late show. 

No, he knew Michael even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He was sometimes long, pleasurable, drawn-out fucks in the back of alleyways when drunk at 4 am, whispering in ears, asking if that’s how it’s liked, one dirty talking motherfucker, begging to be called Mikey, Daddy, and everything in between while increasing speed and bringing both to completion with just a flick of his tongue, a suggestion in his voice, and a stroke of his wrist. During those times, Trevor felt desired.

Other times, he was a romantic and take-it-slow old school gentleman, just content to stroke Trevor’s body and admire him till the end of time as if they were the only two who mattered in the world. Those times, Trevor actually felt cherished.

And then there were the dark days where you didn’t know where Michael’s lust began, his anger ended, and vice versa. Those were the dangerous times where he was possessive and needy, and he could forget that Trevor was a person outside of him with needs too. He would drink too much, be too mad about something, and as of late, it was his predicament with Amanda, the former stripper-slash-hooker girlfriend he was currently shacked up with and pimping out. He was none too happy with approaching fatherhood, jokes thereof, any attempt at actually talking about it, and the whole nine yards, so Trevor had tried to lay low, but it didn’t matter what he did. 

Michael would seek him out like a dog sniffing out a bitch in heat when he wanted to...or worse, like a predator in the middle of bloodlust being alerted to the stench of fear of a wounded rabbit, and Trevor was always that little rabbit, eyes wide, just waiting and knowing what was coming. 

And he couldn’t entirely complain because a huge part of him enjoyed the hunt and what came after. He enjoyed how vicious Michael could get, and he wasn’t stupid; he didn’t need a shrink or Dr. Freud to tell him he had leftover Daddy issues along with a need to protect and love his mother. His Daddy issues were something slighter worse, something based more on craving love and affection from any man who could put up with his shit and put him back in his place. He was built to take a lot of abuse, fortunately or unfortunately, he wasn’t sure. He just knew he could do it, and he enjoyed giving it as much as he could get it. 

Maybe that’s why his dumb ass kept coming back to find Mikey even after each argument, after each week that would go by, after times with no explanations, after the man he loved with his whole heart would find solace in soft curves, long hair, and sweet giggles repeatedly with no regard to his feelings. 

He understood. Women were pretty, soft, and delicate. You wanted to protect them, love them, put them on a pedestal, and feel like their fucking hero out of a storybook. They had a habit of making you feel that way. And dammit, sometimes did _he_ want to be that woman and make Michael feel that way. 

But he also knew that during the dark spells, Michael didn’t need something soft and gentle. He needed something as hard and built as him that couldn’t fall apart so he could lash out when he needed so desperately to vent his frustrations. 

And Trevor knew that’s all the role he could ever hope to be. 

He wasn’t sure what Michael he’d get greeted with today. Sometimes he could see a mix of all three depending upon what kind of action they’d recently seen: if he and Amanda had another drag-out pissing match over what would be a space for the baby since there wasn’t much to work with, if he’d fought with his recently acquired in-laws again for the umpteenth time because they always sided with their daughter, or if he’d attempted to try to tell his parents he was about to be a dad only to hang up the payphone again frantically. It could be anyone’s guess.

He watched as the wind ruffled bits of hair which Mikey had let grown long again because he hadn’t bothered to get it lopped off with them pulling job after job for weeks on end, and he smiled in spite of himself because even if he thought he looked like sex on a stick no matter how he looked, he always did prefer his hair to be a little on the longer side, but he’d never admit that out loud. It gave him something to play with, to reach out and stroke affectionately, and to pull on passionately. 

Daylight was quickly fading to dusk even though it was only 4:23 pm, and it was wiping away the bit of warmth the glow of the sun had brought with it. Adjusting his collar on his coat to make it slightly higher, Trevor went to announce himself, but his voice died in his throat when he looked at the face of his first love.

His eyes were cast towards the ground in despair, and his face wore a petrified mask of turmoil. 

If anyone would follow in the footsteps of Jesus and allow himself to suffer more, Trevor supposed it would be Michael. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be amused or annoyed by that thought. 

He decided to come in with a gentle approach, let the rabbit sniff at the predator. Show the big bad wolf she means no harm to him. He began with rubbing his shoulders lightly through his coat even though he was sure his goddamn fingers were probably close to frostbitten by now because he refused to wear gloves wherever he went, but he ventured that maybe the simple friction would warm them up. 

The big bad wolf startled and bared teeth. “What the -- who the fuck?” 

He stood back and threw his frozen hands up in the air in a defensive posture trying to mimic something harmless. “Just me, Mikey. Was just looking for you, that’s all.”

“Did _she_ fucking send you to look for me?” he bristled cantankerously. Oh good jolly fuck, he had been drinking quite a bit already apparently, so things were going to be very, _very_ interesting in the ol’ town tonight. “I don’t need a fucking keeper.”

He snorted at that thought. “When the fuck have I ever been your keeper, eh? Could swear it’s usually the other way ‘round.” He slipped next to Michael on the bench.

That got a sharp chuckle out of Michael, and he leaned into Trevor’s body but jumped back right after settling into him. “Sweet Jesus! Why the ever-living fuck are you so cold, Trevor?”

He laughed and cracked one of those piss-poor Canada jokes right back at Michael at his own expense. “Ah shit, I guess that Canadian secret winter power bullshit doesn’t work, after all. What’d’ya know?” he finished with a huge smirk. 

Michael’s mind was lost to the joke though and instead was looking at his nearly frozen fingers. “T, what the fuck have we talked about with this whole concept of gloves and cold?”

Trevor settled back against the bench, face heating up even if his fingers remained a slight hue of palish blue. “You have your fucking miserable racist jokes, I have my eccentricities.”

“You’re something else, T,” he responded and then did the very last thing Trevor expected him to do. 

A cold finger slid easily into his warm, squishy mouth, followed by another, and goddamn, the unholy groan that unleashed from Trevor couldn’t be stopped because it had been _weeks_ since he hadn’t humped something that wasn’t a pillow, makeshift hole, or his own pathetic hand. If he really calculated it in his head, the last time they’d had a chance to get together was a quick handjob in a gas station bathroom, but it hadn’t accounted for shit in his mind because they hadn’t even had time to really touch, to kiss, much less look each other in the eyes. 

He had felt like his mother then afterward, a cheap whore, and he’d cried himself into a fitful sleep in his truck bed. Not far from the same spot he currently sat with his eyes transfixed on the mouth slowly playing magic tricks with his fingers, making them disappear behind the hot heat of his mouth while Trevor himself whined pitifully.

“Why?”

“Got to make your fingers warm,” was the simple reply as if Michael was a former Boy Scout, and who knows, maybe that was another secretive part of him that only belonged to him that Trevor would never know while _he_ spilled positively _everything_ about himself with no shame. 

But boy, oh boy, the way Michael’s tongue danced sinfully around his fingers...there could be nothing Boy Scoutishly moral in the way he did _that_. 

Trevor whined again and hissed with need. Just a few measly seconds on this frigid bench and Michael had the tables turned. Now _he_ was the suffering one, dammit. “Mikey, _please_.”

Michael popped a solitary blue eye open and gazed deeply into his. There was something taunting, spirited, boyish, and maddening just in that single action. Innocent but not really. “Please _what_?” he said from around a mouthful of fingers the same way a person would say with a mouthful of Nanaimo during a family get-together. 

Trevor just stared back at him, both in shock and irritation. “Are you serious? It’s been weeks. Don’t make me beg, holy fuck.”

He withdrew each finger from his mouth, and Trevor began to protest at the lack of heat until Michael pulled his zipper down a bit and guided Trevor’s arms into his coat. 

Nope, he wasn’t about to complain as this was a rare opportunity to snuggle close, and he was going to run with it. There weren’t too many of these days coming, he could smell that fire on the horizon as he gladly shoved his freezing digits up and under Michael’s warm armpits and reveled in the body heat they produced before he leaned his head into his chest. 

Michael peered out and over him without really meeting his eyes. “I _like_ hearing you beg. No one’s ever begged for me in my life like you do. No one _needs_ me like you.” 

Trevor felt his breath catch. Was that what he thought it was? Were his ears playing tricks?

“You...good, Mikey? You _know_ we can cut and run anytime you want. I go where you go.”

Michael relaxed visibly somewhat at that admission. “Nah, I’m good. Just the jitters, ya know?” And then his long-suffering eyes returned to Trevor’s. “But sometimes, I wonder….”

Trevor wondered too. He wanted to speak up and tell Michael that they could take their chances anywhere doing the same things they were already doing but without pregnant newlywed hormonal wives and bitchy in-laws, that they could go out west where it was OK to be themselves, that no one would care or pay them any mind. That Michael could be free of his suffering in silence, and so could he. They could both just _be_.

But during the gloom of winter, it seemed too farfetched and unattainable to be happy, like none of them were deserving of that fake life. It was all just pretend. 

The best he could hope for was that his life was miraculously short and that he was forever frozen next to Michael’s side, etched in his memories because that’s all he really wanted to be. Not much else mattered in the end. He didn’t want to stay pretending. It was too fucked up, and he didn’t do this emotions game all that well. 

He blew out a long sad sigh and looked up at the encroaching stars littering the newly-formed night sky. He tried telling the truth. “I’m suffering.”

Beautiful eyes turned down at him followed by a sultry grin. “Aw, I guess I need to do something about that, don’t I?”

And they left to make something better and happier at that moment and the many other moments following that, but in the back of Trevor’s mind, he knew where they all would lead eventually, and he knew he’d always find them both returning to this park, sitting on this bench, suffering until both would eventually part and go make their own way in the world. 


End file.
